


Take Another Little Pizza My Heart

by Phreakycat



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, First Kiss, Getting Together, Insecure Evan "Buck" Buckley, M/M, Oblivious Evan "Buck" Buckley, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Valentine's Day Fluff, bad food puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phreakycat/pseuds/Phreakycat
Summary: In which Buck helps Christopher with his Valentines for school, and discovers some things about himself.ORBuck is oblivious, but Eddie loves him anyway.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 549





	Take Another Little Pizza My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToughPaperRound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToughPaperRound/gifts).



> So I was going to post this yesterday on Valentine's Day but then I saw so many great Valentine's fics and decided maybe I should wait and space it out a little and-
> 
> HAHAHA. No. I just didn't get this posted in time, because my kids' mission in life is to prevent me from doing anything productive. So here it is, a day late and probably more than a dollar short because it was written and edited in little chunks in between breaking up toddler fights and being snack bitch to 3 kids. 
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely toughpaperround, who provided her usual excellent beta skills and moral support! I went back and tweaked after her beta so any and all mistakes are mine alone.

“You’ve stolen a pizza my heart,” Buck reads, holding the brightly colored little square of cardstock between thumb and forefinger. Beside him, Chris bursts into delighted giggles, carefully printing _Love, Chris_ _D._ on a Valentine featuring a cartoon s’more saying _I love you s’more than chocolate!_

“It’s a pun,” Chris tells him, handing him the s’more valentine and reaching for another. "We learned that in English class.”

“You know,” Buck grins, tucking the valentines into envelopes and setting them in the finished pile, “your dad loves puns.”

“No he doesn’t!” Chris laughs, “He thinks they’re  _ ob-obnoxious _ .” 

“Yeah, true, but it’s  _ really _ fun watching him get all huffy when you use them,” Buck says in a stage whisper.

Chris laughs again, and man if that’s not the most addictive sound in the world. Eddie probably thinks Buck is doing  _ him  _ a favor - watching Chris and helping with his school stuff while Eddie runs errands - but honestly, Buck’s been having an off week and hanging out with the best kid in the world is exactly what he needed today.

“What’s next?” he asks said-best-kid-ever, who selects a valentine with beets on it that says  _ You make my heart beet fast _ .

“This one is for Connor Anderson,” Chris says seriously, “because he likes gross stuff. Like beets, and mayonnaise.”

“Hopefully not together,” Buck says, making a face. 

They go on like this for a while, Chris making careful selections for each of his classmates, trying to match the card to the person. They’re getting near to the end of the pile, working for a bit in comfortable silence before Chris speaks again.

“Buck, how do you know if you like someone?” His voice has gone quiet, thoughtful, and Buck knows this is a serious question. He feels a moment of panic, wonders if he should stall Chris until Eddie can answer. But Chris trusted him with the question, and really it’s pretty innocent, right? It’s not like he needs to give him the birds and the bees talk. And if it gets too real, he’ll just tell Chris to ask Eddie.

“Do you think you like someone at school?” Buck asks.

Chris blushes. “Cindy Martin,” he admits.

“That’s great, buddy.”

“But how do I know for  _ sure _ that I like her like… that?”

“Well,” Buck says, “I think it can be different for different people, but for most, there are some signs.”

“Like what?”

“Like… you want to spend more time with that person than with everyone else, and you get excited when you know you’re going to see them. Like, butterflies in your stomach excited. You miss them extra when they’re away, and when you’re with them you feel like you’re more yourself than when you’re apart. When you see something cool or funny they’re the first person you want to tell. Little things make you think of them, you get their sense of humor, and you enjoy doing things together. Sometimes maybe you want to hold their hand or sit near them, too.”

“Oh,” Chris says, handing him another valentine, “like you and Daddy?”

Buck chokes on his own spit, fist clenching around the envelope he was holding and crumpling it. He wonders if maybe he’s having a stroke. Does he smell toast? Wait, is that actually a sign of a stroke, or a pop culture reference? He should know that, he’s a first responder. He definitely smells burnt toast, but Eddie  _ did _ totally char most of Chris’ breakfast this morning so that’s not actually that alarming he supposes.

Okay. Focus, Buck. 

“Uh, what? No, not like- I mean, yeah I love your dad because he’s my best friend but not, that’s not how it-”

“But you spend more time together than with anyone else,” Chris says, as though explaining to a child, “and you get excited to see each other, and like doing things together, and you’re always texting Daddy with funny or cool things you see. And you sit next to each other on the couch  _ all the time _ .”

“It’s - it’s a little more complicated than that?”

“Is t-that a question?” Chis asks, brow furrowed.

“It’s just that it’s a little simpler when you’re a kid and you like someone, but when you’re a grown-up things are a little more complicated sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it more complicated when you’re a grownup?”

“Um,” Buck says, at a loss. Why did he think this was an appropriate conversation to have with Chris, again? Is it too late to just blurt  _ Ask your dad!  _ and change the subject? 

“If you like someone, you should just tell them,” Chris declares, “and if they like you too then you can hold hands and be together. And if they don’t - at least then you can look for someone else.”

Buck blinks at Chris, slightly speechless.

“That’s why I’m going to tell Cindy I like her,” Chris says, smiling. He holds up a valentine with two smiling pears holding hands. It says  _ We make a beautiful pear! _

“I’m going to give her this one,” Chris announces, and sets to filling it out. Once he’s written her name and  _ Love, Chris D.  _ on it, he draws a flurry of little crayon hearts around them and the words  _ I like you! Do you like me too? _ at the bottom. 

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Chris asks.

“Definitely,” Buck says with confidence.

“Do you think she’ll like  _ me? _ ”

“I think you are the most likeable guy in the universe, Superman.”

“T-that was the last one,” Chris announces as Buck carefully places the card in a new, uncrumpled envelope. Luckily there had been extras, since they hadn't used the whole box.

“I’m going to make one for you,” Chris announces, grabbing a card with a bunch of leafy greens that says  _ Kale me maybe _ .

“Thanks buddy,” Buck says, genuinely warmed, “I’ll make one for you, too.”

Buck chooses a breakfast-themed card that says  _ Don’t go bacon my heart _ and fills it out, signing a big, bold  _ LOVE: BUCK _

“Now do hearts, because you need hearts to show you love me most.”

Buck laughs and obligingly doodles a bunch of hearts before sliding the card into an envelope with a flourish and presenting it to Chris. Chris grins and hands Buck his, giggling while Buck makes a show of opening it and fawning over the ridiculous pun.

“There’s two left,” Chris says, handing him one, “here, we can e-each make one for Daddy.”

Buck feels a funny swoop in his belly, still reeling a little from Chris’ casual comment about him  _ liking _ Eddie. The card Chris handed him has a little smiling pudding on it and it says _ I’m your biggest flan _ . It’s just a child’s valentine, it doesn’t have to be weird, right? Eddie won’t read anything into it, he’ll probably just roll his eyes at the bad pun and that’ll be that. 

He writes  _ To: Eddie  _ on the back and then hesitates before signing a simple  _ BUCK _ .

“No,” Chris insists, pointing at the card with his red crayon, “it’s for  _ Valentine’s Day _ , Buck. You need to say  _ love _ .”

Buck hesitates for a moment, then admits that he  _ did _ just tell Chris he loved Eddie because they were best friends, so there’s really no way out. 

“Good catch,” Buck says, “disaster averted!”

He squeezes  _ LOVE _ in before his name and goes to slip the card into an envelope, but Chris stops him.

“ _ Buck _ ,” he sighs, “it needs  _ hearts _ .”

“I’m not sure your dad is a hearts kinda guy,” Buck hedges.

“Daddy says hearts and flowers and sparkly things aren’t just for girls, and that boys can like that stuff too and it’s okay.”

“Yeah, totally! Your dad is right. Pink is one of my favorite colors. I just don’t know if your dad, in particular, is really into hearts. Specifically.”

Chris’ face falls and he looks between his card and Buck’s face. “Does that mean he won’t like my card?” he asks, and Buck is horrified to see his lower lip tremble a little. 

“What? No! Of course he’ll like it! He’ll  _ love _ it!”

“But I put hearts on it,” Chris says mournfully, “and you said he doesn’t like hearts.”

Fuck. Shit. Balls. 

_ Way to go, Buckley. You’re really nailing this discussion. Quick, think of something you fucking walnut! _

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I think actually I  _ did _ hear your dad say he liked all the heart decorations Hen put up at work.”

_ Smooth. _

“Really?”

“Yeah! He’s gonna love the hearts, I know it.” Buck puts all the confidence he can muster into the words.

“Okay,” Chris says, smiling, “then you should do some on yours, too!”

Smart enough to know when he’s backed himself into a corner, Buck forces a smile and says “Sure thing, bud!”

He draws a circle of blue hearts around the edge of the card, knowing it’s Eddie’s favorite color. Chris peers at the card and giggles.

“What?”

“That one is upside down and it looks like a butt,” Chris chortles.

Ah, the universal humor of butts. 

“It does I guess,” Buck laughs, “I guess I accidentally drew your dad a butt for Valentine’s Day. Whoops!”

Chris loses it, almost doubled over as he belly-laughs, and that’s when Eddie walks through the door with two handfuls of grocery bags.

“Sounds like I missed a good time,” Eddie grins, moving to the counter to start unloading the food.

“Buck,” gasps Chris, face split by a grin, “give Daddy the picture you drew of his BUTT!”

Chris doubles over laughing breathlessly. Eddie is frozen with a confused, slightly concerned look on his face and  _ oh fuck. _

_ Please god strike me down now,  _ Buck thinks, then a heartbeat later  _ Wait, no, that’s tempting fate with my history. I take it back! Maybe a minor distraction? _

“That’s not what- I didn’t draw  _ your  _ butt Eddie, I drew a butt  _ for _ you. Chris just worded it kinda- wait, that’s not it either. I drew you  _ hearts _ and one looks like a butt. But not on purpose! The butt, or the…. hearts, I guess.” 

Buck trails off, briefly reconsidering asking god to strike him down. 

Eddie is pressing his lips together, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and is he  _ mad _ ? Oh no. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“I’m sorry for the butt,” Buck blurts.

Eddie snorts and covers his mouth, at which point Buck realizes that the strange expression on Eddie’s face had been his shitty attempt to stifle laughter, not anger.

“Yeah, see if you get your valentine now, Diaz,” Buck says indignantly, crossing his arms. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning up as he watches the Diaz boys laughing hysterically together, though. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie wheezes, “it’s just, your face-”

“Yup, laugh it up.”

“Dad,” Chris yells, “look at the butt!”

He hands Eddie the valentine, and Buck is embarrassed to feel himself blushing a little. 

Eddie is still smiling as he looks down at the card, but it turns softer, fond. “Thanks, Buck, I love it,” he says, sounding far more sincere than a little dimestore card warrants.

“You’re welcome,” Buck says. And yup, those are butterflies in his stomach. 

He wants to say  _ I think maybe your 9 year old figured out that I’m in love with you before I did, and by the way Happy Valentine’s Day.  _ Instead he grins and says thoughtfully “You know, if you turn them in the right direction,  _ every _ heart on there is a butt.”

That sets Chris off again, and Eddie swears that if he gets a call from the school about butts he’s sending them Buck’s way. It’s a perfect, happy moment with two of the people Buck loves most in the world. He should feel content. But it’s like a seed has been planted, and now all Buck can think is that he wants  _ more _ .

__

Buck spends the next two weeks in a constant state of near-existential-crisis over his sexuality and his feelings for his best friend. This is a level of emotional rollercoaster he’s never experienced before, oscillating wildly between anxiety, euphoria, and confusion. 

The night after the Valentine’s incident ( _ Butt-Gate,  _ his inner child insists) he’d laid awake in bed combing through all of his recent memories of Eddie, turning them around in his mind and trying to see them from a new angle. A look, a brush of a hand, a flutter in his belly when Eddie smiled at him. What did they mean? He doesn’t sleep, thoughts racing and palms sweaty.

He knows he’s acting weird around Eddie, and  _ knowing _ he’s acting weird is only making him act  _ more _ weird and fuck, sometimes Buck hates his stupid, obsessive brain and its need to dissect everything. He’ll go to knock his shoulder into Eddie’s out of habit, practically muscle memory at this point, and his brain will think  _ wait, is this too much? Is it too forward? Do other best friends do this or is it strange? What if he can tell? _

Then he’ll falter, hesitate or pull away, and Eddie will look at him with this slightly hurt, confused expression and Buck’s brain basically just goes from over-analyzing everything to nothing but panicked, wordless chimpanzee screeching. 

The weekend after Butt-Gate (it’s a good name, okay), Buck lies in the dark of his apartment and tries to figure out if he’s sexually attracted to his best friend. He closes his eyes and picture’s Eddie’s face, his warm eyes and strong jaw, slowly building the picture in his head as he works his way down. Wide shoulders, defined pecs, those  _ fucking ridiculous abs _ . Buck gets as far as the cut muscles at Eddie’s hips that angle under his shorts before he realizes he’s hard, and, well - the science doesn’t lie. He’s got a boner for his BFF. Both literally, and figuratively. And emotionally? 

Yes, he’s definitely got a raging emotional hard-on for Edmundo Diaz.

He takes care of the literal hard-on, thinking about Eddie, then promptly has a panic attack. He just jerked off to the image of his unsuspecting best friend, and now he feels like he needs to be put on some sort of pervert registry because of it. 

It’s very confusing. And arousing. And terrifying. 

But mostly confusing. 

He wonders if there’s, like, support groups for dumbasses who take almost three decades to realize they’re gay. Bi? Does he like other guys, or just Eddie? Is he Eddiesexual? LGBTQA...E? 

Fuck, he needs to do some research. The kind that  _ doesn’t _ involve his hand down his pants. Or at least, not  _ just _ that. He has a feeling he might be revisiting his earlier experiment later. Just to verify results - it’s an important part of the scientific process, right? Maybe he’ll donate to a charity in Eddie’s name or something to assuage his guilt about adding Eddie to his mental spank-bank. That could work.

__

“Okay man, what the hell is up with you?” Eddie finally asks him in the parking lot three days later, exasperated and apparently tired enough at the end of a 24 hour shift to finally say something. 

Buck feels a flush of guilt and embarrassment, knowing he’s the cause of the awkwardness between them, but he doesn’t know how to explain all this without imploding the best thing in his life. 

“What do you mean?” he hedges, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. 

“You know what I mean, Buck. You’re tense, and distant, and just…  _ weird _ . Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No!” Buck rushes to tell him, “No, I swear, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But there is something wrong,” Eddie says with a blank expression, folding his arms.

“No. Yes? Not with you, or with us. I guess just me.”

Eddie’s expression shifts immediately into concern, arms uncrossing as he steps closer.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Buck needs to write a fucking book or something -  _ How to Lose Control of Every Conversation You Have and Spiral Into Chaos, a Guide by Evan Buckley _ . He sighs, deciding on a truth that is just not the  _ whole _ truth.

“I just- Valentine’s Day is not my favorite holiday. I’m always single, and it’s like the whole first two weeks of February are designed to remind me of that fact and make me feel shitty about it. Plus there was the whole ‘choked on a breadstick and had to have my date perform an emergency field tracheotomy’ deal the  _ one _ year I had a date…”

“The… wait,  _ what?” _ Eddie says, eyebrows raised.

Buck shrugs sheepishly and gestures to the faint scar on his throat.

“Okay, you’re telling me that story in full detail later. For now, just stop acting like a pod person and talk to me again. Plus we’re working Valentine’s, which means not only will we have plenty of distractions, the holiday is likely to be full of disasters to remind us both why the dating life is still a dumpster fire.”

Buck laughs. “Yeah, I can manage that I think. Sorry. For you know, being weird.”

“You’re always weird,” Eddie grins, “But I love you anyway.” 

Then before Buck can react, Eddie steps forward and pulls him into a firm hug, holding on a beat longer than usual. Buck hopes Eddie can’t feel the way his heart is galloping in his chest, or how damp his palms are where they rest on Eddie’s back. 

_ He doesn’t mean it like that, _ Buck tells himself, even as the words replay in his head and his cheeks warm.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow night,” Eddie says, stepping back and moving toward his truck, “Chris can tell you all about his new girlfriend and then you can watch me drink to deal with the fact that my kid is apparently dating now.”

“He asked? Cindy said yes?” Buck exclaims, thrilled.

“I’ll let Chris tell you all about it tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal,” Buck says, “but you’re paying for the takeout.”

Eddie grins and gets in his truck, waving as he pulls away. 

Buck has to go bang his head against his steering wheel for a few minutes, waiting for his dick to  _ calm down _ before he can drive home. 

_

Buck has a sex dream that night involving Eddie in his Army uniform. Because of  _ course  _ he does. 

When Eddie opens the door that afternoon, Buck wants to either crawl into a hole of shame and die, or salute. Maybe both? He makes a Herculean effort to act cool, handing Eddie the six pack of IPA he brought and following him into the kitchen. 

“Buck!” Chris shouts happily from the table where he’s looking at the takeout menu to their favorite Indian place, “Dad said we can get extra paneer pakora!”

“Awesome!” Buck says, dropping into the chair next to Chris and giving him a quick side hug, “And I hear you have an update for me on Operation Woo Cindy?”

Buck listens attentively as Chris tells him how he gave Cindy her valentine early, unable to wait the rest of the week, and how Cindy said yes and now they get to sit on the bus and hold hands. His cheeks are pink as he talks, but his eyes are happy and Buck can’t help but grin along with him. 

“See, Buck? You should just  _ tell _ people when you like them,” Chris says, then turns to Eddie and asks, “Can we get garlic naan, too?”

Buck flushes and sneaks a glance at Eddie, who is watching them with open affection and amusement. 

“He’s got a point,” Eddie says, and  _ what?  _ What does that mean? “You want chicken tikka masala, or biryani?” Eddie asks, so casually that Buck wonders if he imagined the first part of that statement or not. 

“Tikka masala,” Buck says, shaking himself out of his brief confusion. He’s definitely reading too much into things. “Always tikka masala, Eddie.”

Eddie orders the takeout, then gets Chris set up to choose a movie while Buck puts the beer in the fridge and putters around, strangely restless. 

“Go sit down, you’re making me anxious with all the pacing,” Eddie laughs, “I’m going to run to the bathroom and take a quick shower before the food gets here, if that’s okay. I was doing some yard work this morning and I feel gross.”

“Yeah man, take your time,” Buck says, waving him towards the bathroom. 

“If the food shows up there’s a ten in my wallet that should cover the tip,” Eddie calls on his way out of the room. 

Buck is glad that Chris has a lot to tell him (mostly about Cindy), grateful for the distraction so he has something to do other than sit there and picture Eddie in the shower.

The doorbell rings just as Buck hears the shower turn off, so he grabs Eddie’s wallet off the table by the door and answers. 

“Hey, man, thanks,” Buck says, taking the bags and setting them inside the door, “hold on, let me get your tip.”

He opens Eddie’s wallet for the cash, and freezes. Eddie’s got one of those wallets with the built-in photo holders - Buck had taunted him about it when he bought it, calling him an old man and reminding him that here in the 21st century most people just kept photos on their phones. 

Most of the pictures are, obviously, of Chris. One of him as a newborn, his kindergarten class photo, there’s even one with the three of them together, taken at the zoo. Buck has seen all of those before. What’s new is the last, previously empty slot is now taken up by a little pink square of paper. Eddie has folded it to fit the small space, and the half that is visible through the clear plastic window says  _ LOVE BUCK _ in his own messy handwriting, surrounded by little blue hearts.

“Uh, you okay man?” the delivery man asks, unsure, and Buck snaps out of it long enough to numbly hand him a ten and wish him a good day. He stands there for a moment longer, staring down at the little Valentine carefully displayed in Eddie’s wallet. He doesn’t understand - Eddie kept it? He not only kept it, he put it in his wallet. He put it in his wallet with  _ LOVE BUCK _ on display. Buck’s stomach swoops, a terrifying hope forming. Does- does Eddie like him back?

“Hey, I smell garlic naan, is that the food?” Eddie asks from behind him, and Buck jumps, snapping the wallet shut like he’s just been caught reading someone’s diary.

“Yeah, soup’s on,” Buck says, smiling and trying not to look guilty.

“We didn’t get  _ soup _ ,” Chris laughs from the living room, and Buck forces himself to stop thinking about the Valentine and what it means. He’s been weird enough recently, the last thing he needs to do is read too much into an innocent gesture and get all worked up over nothing. 

__

Just as Eddie predicted, their shift on Valentine’s Day is full of romantic disasters. It starts off slow enough, too early for most couples to be doing anything adventurous. They deal with a few minor car accidents, a heart attack, and one OD. Buck tries his best to focus on work and not think about his empty, lonely apartment waiting for him at the end of the shift. It’s just another day - another commercial holiday meant to sell candy and flowers. It doesn’t mean anything. 

After lunch they get their first holiday-related call. A man has lost the keys to the handcuffs he used to restrain his girlfriend to their bed. After failing to break the cuffs or the wrought iron bed frame, he’d given up and just called 9-1-1. 

They’re greeted by the man who called, wearing a robe that does little to cover him, and led to the bedroom where they find his irate (and very naked) girlfriend.

“Get me the  _ hell _ out of these!” she screams, shaking the cuffs where her wrists are secured to the bed frame. Her movements make the sheet covering her shift, dangerously close to falling off her breasts. She doesn’t seem to care. 

“We’ll have you out in a moment, ma’am,” Eddie assures her, his face the picture of carefully composed professionalism. 

“Janine,” the man says, wringing his hands, “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut it, Marcus,” Janine snaps, glaring. “It was bad enough that the best you could come up with for Valentine’s Day was a shitty pair of novelty handcuffs, three minutes of lukewarm foreplay, and then flopping around on top of me like a dying fish. But now I’m sitting here with  _ my fucking tits out _ in front of a bunch of firefighters because you can’t keep track of the key? We’re  _ done! _ ” 

“Can’t you like, sedate her or something?” Marcus asks Bobby plaintively. 

“Afraid not,” Bobby says. “Buck, get the bolt cutters and start getting her free.”

Buck runs back to the truck for the bolt cutters, returning to find that Janine is now totally exposed from the waist up. Chim, Eddie, and Bobby are all carefully looking elsewhere, occupying themselves with having the unfortunate boyfriend sign some forms. Great. 

“I need you to hold still for me, ma’am,” Buck tells her, trying to pretend she’s not currently topless and making eyes at him.

“Oh, please don’t call me  _ ma’am, _ ” she insists, her voice shifting from pissed to syrupy in a heartbeat, “that makes me sound so  _ old _ .”

Buck smiles tightly as he gets the bolt cutters around the chain linking the cuffs and snaps them. Janine bats her eyelashes at him and rests a hand on his forearm, making no move to cover herself.

“My  _ hero _ ,” she says, “got plans for tonight, handsome? My evening just opened up and I’d hate to spend Valentine’s Day alone. Maybe  _ you _ could be my valentine?” 

She pushes her shoulders back, which puts her breasts even more on display, and Jesus fucking Christ she’s really got no shame, does she?

Before Buck can stammer out an awkward rejection, a large, white towel flies past his head and lands on Janine’s chest, causing her to sputter indignantly.

“Here you go,  _ ma’am _ ,” Eddie says with an exaggerated tone of politeness, “why don’t you cover yourself up and we’ll get the rest of the cuffs off your wrists.”

Janine glares at him, holding the towel over her breasts (barely) and clearly unhappy about having her excuse for exhibitionism ruined. 

“You didn’t answer me,” she finally says, turning back to Buck with a theatrical pout. 

“He’s already got a Valentine,” Eddie says cooly, wrapping an arm around Buck’s waist. Buck tries not to choke, feeling a bit like the rug has been pulled out from under him. 

“Oh,” Janine says, deflating.

“Now, any pain? Swelling? Injuries we need to assess?” Eddie asks, dropping his arm from Buck’s waist and quickly reverting to medic mode. 

“Does a wounded ego count?”

“No ma’am.”

“Then no,” Janine sighs.

They make quick work of getting the bracelets off her wrists, wincing at the shrill yelling from inside the house as they climb back in the truck.

“Thanks,” Buck says to Eddie once they’re on their way, “For you know, pretending to be my boyfriend or whatever so she’d leave me alone.” 

He feels himself flushing a little as he says  _ boyfriend _ and hopes Eddie doesn’t notice.  _ It was just a ruse to save you from being groped by a patient _ , Buck tells himself,  _ don’t make it weird. _

Eddie gives him a funny look. A strange mix of exasperation and fondness.

“I thought you were my biggest  _ flan _ ,” he finally says, smiling. There’s a look in his eyes that Buck can’t decipher. 

“President of the Eddie Diaz fan club!” Buck grins.

“You know if you don’t have plans for later-” Eddie starts, and Buck’s heart thumps with anxious anticipation. But then Bobby is interrupting to tell them they’re being re-routed to a house fire caused by poorly placed mood candles, and the moment is gone. 

__

Their next call is for a woman with second degree burns suffered in a disastrous attempt to make flambé for her girlfriend. They have enough time at the station for a quick meal before they’re called out for a broken leg, the result of a man falling off a small cliff while proposing to his girlfriend (she said yes, and he’s loaded into the ambulance giving his now-fianceé besotted looks in between grimaces of pain. After that there’s an allergic reaction to chocolates, and a truly horrifying incident where a guy reached for the lube and grabbed hand sanitizer instead.

It’s all good distraction, but the closer they get to the end of their shift the more melancholy Buck feels and the harder it is to ignore the looming thought of his empty apartment waiting for him. 

By the time they’re wrapping up changing in the locker room to go home, Buck is quiet and resigned. Buck 1.0 would have been living it up tonight, capitalizing on all the singles out looking for a good time . But Buck 2.0 wants more, and the thought of going out and looking for meaningless sex is even more awful than the thought of sitting at home alone. Plus, he doesn’t want just anyone. And the person he  _ does  _ want…

“Hey,” Eddie says from behind him, startling him, “did you end up making plans for tonight, or are you still free?”

“No plans unless you count sitting around waiting for all the Valentine’s candy to go on sale tomorrow so I can buy a bunch of chocolates and eat my feelings,” Buck shrugs.

“Come home with me,” Eddie says plainly, his face open and calm.

“Eddie man, you know I love being there with you guys but you don’t need to inconvenience yourself to-”

“Buck,” Eddie says, stepping closer and staring intently at him, “you’re not an inconvenience.”

“I know I told you I didn’t like Valentine’s Day, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to entertain me or something because you feel bad,” Buck shrugs, unable to look at Eddie directly.

“That’s really the only reason you can think of that I might ask you over today?”

“I mean, unless - do you need me to help out with something? I can watch Chris, if you wanted to go out-”

“J _ esús ayúdame, _ ” Eddie exclaims, “You don’t always have to be  _ giving  _ something in order to deserve someone’s time, Buck. I don’t know who taught you that love and affection are things you need to work so hard to earn, but it’s bullshit. You’re enough, Evan. And I’m not asking you out of pity, or some sense of obligation. I’m asking because I  _ want  _ you there. So, come home with me.”

Buck feels a staggering mix of emotions, grief, relief, gratitude. Love. He doesn’t know if he wants to cry, or grab Eddie and kiss him breathless. 

“Okay,” he says instead, voice thick around the lump in his throat.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, “let’s go.”

Buck decides to leaves his Jeep at the station and ride with Eddie, relishing the chance to just sit and zone out while someone else drives. Eddie starts rehashing the wildest calls from the day as they sit in traffic, which leads to Buck telling him about his Valentine’s Day calls from the year before Eddie joined the 118. That ends with Buck sheepishly telling Eddie about his catastrophic first date with Abby and the resulting emergency tracheotomy. 

“Well, I’m still going to hate her for how she treated you, but I guess I can hate her a little less since she saved your life and all,” Eddie says, shaking his head.

“You don’t  _ hate _ Abby,” Buck insists, “That’s a really strong word. And she’s not a bad person, she just was going through some stuff and-”

“Buck. This is an argument you won’t win with me. Even now, after that shitty excuse for an explanation she gave you, you’re trying to defend her. Because you’re so  _ good _ , Buck. And she took advantage of that, she hurt you, and even now won’t really apologize. You say she’s not a bad person? Fine, I won’t argue with you. But what she  _ did _ ? The way she treated you? That  _ was  _ bad. So yeah. I kinda hate her.”

“Oh,” Buck says, off-kilter at this second, unusual display of Genuine Edmundo Diaz Emotions™ in less than an hour. Part of him wants to argue with Eddie, to continue to try to convince him that his ire for Abby is misplaced. But honestly, having someone defend him, be angry solely on his behalf? It’s nice.

When they finally pull into Eddie’s driveway, Buck notes the lack of Carla or Abuela’s car in the driveway. 

‘Who’s watching Chris?” Buck asks as they make their way to the door.

“He’s at Pepa’s for the night,” Eddie says. He unlocks the door and motions Buck inside. The house is quiet, the lights dim and homey. 

Buck had assumed that Eddie was inviting him home to hang out with him and Christopher, one of their usual movie nights (followed by one of their usual pancake breakfasts). Now here in the empty house, just the two of them on Valentine’s evening, Eddie’s invitation starts to take on a different tone. 

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen, and Buck realizes he’s just been standing there, frozen in thought.

“Uh, yeah, please,” Buck answers, dropping onto the sofa and wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs. 

Eddie returns with two opened beers, handing one to Buck and sitting down next to him, close enough for their arms to brush. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck,” Eddie says toasting him with his beer. Buck clinks the bottles together and returns the sentiment, taking a long drink to settle his nerves. Maybe he should say something? Should he take a chance, express how he feels? This has to mean something, right? Eddie inviting him over to spend Valentine’s evening with just the two of them? Or maybe not - maybe he’s reading too much into this and saying something will destroy their friendship. God he wishes he had a definitive sign, something black and white and impossible to misinterpret, something just writing it out in plain-

Buck’s broken from his spiraling thoughts by Eddie shoving a small red envelope under his nose and waving it at him. It says  _ Buck _ on it, in Eddie’s blocky handwriting.

“What’s this?” he asks, taking it and setting aside his beer.

“Well, you made me a valentine, it only seemed right that I make one for you, too,” Eddie says, and is he  _ blushing _ ? “Open it.”

Buck clears his throat nervously and carefully peels up the seal on the envelope, pulling a small card out. The front has a cartoon bottle of soy sauce with hearts for eyes and the words  _ You’re my soymate  _ floating above it. Buck smiles at the ridiculous pun even as his heart races at the blatantly romantic undertone. He turns it over, and the back says  _ To: Buck, Love: Eddie _ at the top, complete with little green hearts (Buck’s favorite color). Under that it says  _ I like you, do you like me too? Check yes or no _ .

Buck freezes, breath catching and stomach full of butterflies. He looks up at Eddie, overwhelmed, desperate to know this is real and not some wildly unfunny joke. Eddie is smiling at him warmly, holding out a pen.

“Well?” Eddie asks when Buck continues to gape at him in shock, “Are you going to check a box? Don’t leave a guy ha-”

He lunges forward and grabs Eddie’s face in both his hands, crashing their lips together and smothering the rest of Eddie’s words as he kisses him desperately. When Buck finally pulls away to breathe, he realizes he’s crawled into Eddie’s lap, and they’re both panting and flushed. 

“So that’s a yes?” Eddie asks, grinning and rubbing his thumbs over Buck’s hipbones. 

“Yes. Definitely yes. I just - I didn’t know if you liked me, too.”

“Buck,” Eddie says fondly, “I’m pretty sure up until tonight you were the  _ only  _ one who  _ didn’t _ know. I haven’t been subtle.”

“I didn’t know,” Buck admits, “I mean, I didn’t even  _ consider _ the possibility until last week. I don’t- how did everyone know before me?”

“We spend the majority of our free time together, we talk - all the time - when we’re apart. You’re essentially co-parenting Chris at this point. Last month at parent teacher conferences his science teacher asked where his other dad was and before I could even open my mouth Chris was telling him  _ Buck had to work _ . Because Chris knew, without even having to think, that it was  _ you _ his teacher was talking about. And it never even occurred to him to question the assumption that you were his parent.”

Buck is alarmed to feel tears welling up in his eyes and he swallows thickly at the idea that Chris sees him as anything even approaching a father figure. Eddie reaches up and brushes a thumb over his cheek with so much tenderness and affection that the tears in Buck’s eyes spill over.

“Don’t you have  _ any _ idea how much we love you, Buck?” Eddie whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

“I think maybe I’m starting to, a little,” Buck answers. “But… aren’t you worried? About what happens if we cross this line?”

“Evan,” Eddie says, laughing, “there aren’t any lines between us, not anymore. Not for a long time, now.”

“I’m scared,” Buck admits, and Eddie presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m scared that if I let myself admit how much I need you, how much I… love you, and then I  _ lose _ you, I’ll never recover. I don’t think I could survive that, Eddie, I don’t-”

“You won’t,” Eddie promises, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids when Buck squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to reign in his emotions, “You won’t lose me. You won’t lose us. I swear.”

“You can’t promise that,” Buck breathes, hands shaking where they rest on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Watch me,” Eddie insists, so much conviction in his voice that Buck almost believes him, believes that he can stave off heartache by sheer will alone. Buck kisses him, trying to push every feeling he can’t yet verbalize into the embrace, hoping Eddie can read between the lines and know how he feels.

And of course Eddie can. Eddie has  _ always _ been able to hear the things Buck can’t say out loud. 

“I love you,” Buck breathes into Eddie’s mouth, and without hesitation, without any trace of doubt, Eddie whispers it right back.

__

Buck buys a wallet with slots for photos. Chim teases him and tells him it’s an old man’s wallet. But Buck doesn’t care, because every time he opens it and sees  _ Love: Eddie _ carefully framed in the little plastic window, he smiles.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
